


The Avengers: The Marvelous Masquerade

by skywalker17



Series: The Wizarding Avengers [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Avengers - Freeform, Crossover, HarryPotter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Marvel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalker17/pseuds/skywalker17
Summary: Crossover Hogwarts AU where the Avengers are students attending the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When a mysterious man becomes the new Defense Against the Dark Arts, a band of unlikely students will have to come together to save the school. (Also being published on fanfiction.net under the same username, and on Wattpad under Skywalker317)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello, people of the fanfiction world! I'm very excited to get started on my first crossover fanfiction! :D Just a couple of notes/warnings/etc. before I get to the first chapter:
> 
> 1) Although this is a HP/Marvel crossover, I do not plan on using ANY characters from the Harry Potter series. I'm merely using the setting of the Wizarding World, and incorporating the Avengers into it. I've spent months planning out the details for this story, and I've worked very hard to try and blend the characters into the HP world.
> 
> 2) None of the characters will have their superpowers (at least not in the way you're used to seeing them). Most of them will just be wizards/witches attending Hogwarts. I've tried to come up with adequate versions of their powers/characteristics that fit into the HP world, but don't expect to see Tony flying around in his Iron Man suit.
> 
> 3) I'm an avid fan of the MCU, but I admit that I'm not very well-versed in the comic book lore. For that reason, I've decided to base the characters solely on their MCU representations.
> 
> 4) As I mentioned previously, not quite all of the characters are kids. I had to have some as adults to be the Professors, and so after much thought, i decided to leave Thor as an adult, and have the Asgardians be the teachers at Hogwarts. You'll see a few other characters as adults as well, in various roles, but the majority will be kids.
> 
> 5) This is going to be a trilogy. I estimate each separate story will have roughly 25-30 chapters, but it could be more or less. The main POV characters will be Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Bucky (and I really just picked those four because they're my favorites), but I'll try and have little bits and pieces from everyone's POV scattered throughout the series.
> 
> 6) This story should be fairly clean. I don't anticipate much outside of occasional violence and some thematic elements. I do want to be very clear that this story will NOT contain any smut, and will also not have any slash pairings.
> 
> Alright, I think that concludes that. I've had so much fun writing this story and brainstorming ideas. I have some really cool stuff planned, so I hope you guys like the first chapter!

The Hogwarts Express was never late. Among other things, this was perhaps one of the greatest truths of the Wizarding World. This was also the reason that Steve Rogers was in such a state of distress on September 1st, 2012.   
His thin, wobbly legs pounded the pavement of King’s Cross Station as he dodged and weaved his way through the huddled mass of people making their way along. The watch strapped around his spindly wrist taunted him as the hands ticked closer and closer to Eleven O’Clock. Steve’s heart was pounding, beads of perspiration starting to form underneath his hastily-combed blonde hair.   
Pushing his cart through the crowd while mumbling excuses and apologies, the boy finally approached Platform 9 ¾ . Pausing to take a deep breath, Steve slicked back his hair and straightened his clothes. Gripping the cart’s handle, he closed his eyes and launched himself forward, straight into the brick platform. When his blue eyes fluttered open, he found himself standing in Hogwarts Station.   
To his great relief, Steve saw that the Hogwarts Express was still there, although its engines were roaring impatiently as it awaited its annual journey to begin. Parents were lined up along the edge of the platform, waving their final farewells as students of all ages leaned out the windows and yelled their goodbyes. Steve quickly dropped off his trunk at the luggage compartment, making it in the nick of time as they prepared to close the cargo doors. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Steve pelted to the closest train car and scampered aboard.   
All eyes in the car turned to him, and Steve found himself greeting a wave of unfamiliar faces. First years. Nodding politely as he navigated his way towards the end of the car, Steve hopped into the next one to find a crowd of sixth years. He ignored the usual bouts of giggles and harsh looks, and continued on to the next car. It was there that he finally found his fellow fifth years. An all-too familiar face emerged from the nearest compartment; a Slytherin boy of average height and build with thick, mahogany hair, dark brown eyes, and designer sneakers that cost more than Steve’s apartment.   
“Late already, Rogers?” said the boy with a leering smirk. Steve pursed his lips tightly.   
“A pleasure as always, Stark,” he murmured, quietly slipping past the boy.   
“Oi! Steve!” another familiar voice cried from up ahead, and Steve craned his neck to see a tall, muscular boy with black hair beckoning to him. Steve burst into a grin, rushing through the crowd of fifth years to meet his best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.   
“Bucky,” Steve exclaimed, wrapping his friend in a tight embrace. “Sorry I’m late.” he mumbled as he pulled away, and the two boys claimed the last empty compartment in the train.   
“Never mind that,” Bucky answered, waving his hand dismissively as he plopped down on the seat opposite Steve. “Was Stark bothering you again?” he asked with a slight frown. “I’d be more than happy to go shut him up for the next week.” Steve chuckled as his friend’s hands curled into fists.  
“Then he’d sneak some nasty potion into your food for revenge,” he answered. Bucky shrugged.   
“You always were the righteous one,” he replied, his broad shoulders relaxing. “Now,” the brown-haired boy continued. “How is she?” Steve sighed.   
“Not well, I’m afraid,” he replied candidly, scratching the back of his neck. “The doctors at St. Mungo’s are saying it doesn’t look good.” Bucky’s sea-blue eyes widened in both surprise and concern.   
“Steve, you know,” he said after a moment of silence, his tone cautious. “If anything ever happens to your Mum, you...you can always come stay with us.” Bucky reached across the compartment, placing a comforting hand on Steve’s knobby knee.   
“I appreciate it, Buck,” Steve responded with a weak smile. “But I’ll have to find a way to make it on my own.” Bucky didn’t look entirely satisfied with such an answer, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned his well-built frame against the back of his seat and gazed thoughtfully out the window as the Hogwarts Express began to chug out of the station.   
On the platform below, Steve spotted row after row of families, waving away their children and siblings. Biting his lip, Steve fought back the small tinge of disappointment at the realization that his mother was nowhere to be found on that platform. She was too ill to have made it today. She had wished him well this morning before he had left their apartment in Camden, London after a meager breakfast of a banana and a stale piece of bread, then walked halfway to King’s Cross before hitching a ride the rest of the way.   
“I can’t believe we’re in fifth year already,” Bucky murmured, dragging Steve away from his thoughts. “It feels like just yesterday we were timid little first years.”   
“Those were the days,” Steve answered with a chuckle.   
“You were so adamant about being sorted into Gryffindor,” Bucky recalled with a lop-sided smile. “You wouldn’t shut up about it the whole train ride there.”   
“But I was right, wasn’t I?” Steve reminded him with a pointed look. “And Gryffindor has been the best; for both of us.”   
“I beg to differ,” a new voice came from the entrance to the compartment. Steve turned his gaze to the doorway, pleased to find another friend of his waltzing inside. It was Sam Wilson, a fourth year Hufflepuff. “The Huffles are where it’s at, mate,” said Sam with a broad, cheeky grin as he took the seat next to Bucky, who looked a bit perturbed at the interruption.   
“We all know you wanted to get into Gryffindor, mate,” Bucky retorted with a slight frown. “Besides, Gryffindor whooped you lazy Huffles at the Quidditch Championship last year, if I remember correctly.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.   
“We still won the House Cup, Barnes,” he shot back. “In case your memory’s getting a bit foggy.” Bucky didn’t have a response for that, and merely glowered at Sam in silence. Sam settled back into his chair with a smug expression etched across his dark-skinned face, a teasing twinkle inside of his almond-brown eyes.   
“So,” said Steve, clearing his throat as he tried to change the subject. “Who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be?”   
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Sam answered candidly, his expression turning to one of puzzlement. “But I’m sure Headmaster Odin will find the best person for the job.”   
“It won’t be hard to find one better than the last professor,” Bucky remarked, propping his feet up idly against the window.   
“I liked him,” Sam argued with a frown. Bucky snorted.   
“Because he never gave out assignments, you dolt,” he responded. “I’ve hardly learned a thing in that class.”   
“You hardly learn a thing in any class, Buck,” Steve pointed out drolly. Bucky glared at him in protest.   
“At least I don’t spend all my classes gawking at Peggy Carter,” he fired back. Steve felt his cheeks flushing, and he swiftly looked away. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Sam giggled from across the compartment.  
“Well, we all know who you spend your classes gawking at, James,” came a smooth, breezy voice from the compartment doorway. All three boys turned in unison to see a tall, leggy redhead leaning against the doorframe, her green eyes twinkling like emeralds.   
“Why yes,” Bucky replied without missing a beat, his sharp gaze narrowing as he eyed Natasha Romanoff up and down. “It’s whichever side of the room you’re not on, Romanoff.”   
“So why don’t you crawl back to all your Slytherin friends and leave us decent folks alone,” Sam added coolly.   
“Suit yourself,” Natasha responded, shrugging nonchalantly. With a careless flick of her crimson hair, she drifted away from their compartment, leaving the boys alone.   
“Of all the nerve,” Sam grumbled, staring after her with an irritated look painted over his normally calm face.   
“She’s the only person in the entire world that calls me James,” Bucky agreed with a scowl.   
“Because she knows how much you hate it, genius,” Steve pointed out.   
“Hmmph,” Bucky grumbled, continuing to frown as he glared out the window. Steve shook his head ruefully.   
With their cabin lapsing into silence, Steve turned his attention down to the frayed shoelaces of his sneakers. He exhaled slowly, his thin abdomen slumping against the back of his seat. Now that he was relaxing on the train, anticipation began to bubble inside of his chest. His summer had been long and arduous, and he had eagerly awaited his return to Hogwarts. Even if half the school thought he was a squib, Hogwarts had always felt safer than the ramshackle apartment he shared with his mother back in London.   
Steve could only hope his mother would live through another year of his absence. 

There was no family of greater power or wealth in the wizarding community than the Starks, and no one knew this better than young Anthony Edward Stark. The Slytherin Prodigy, known simply as Tony, thought himself to be quite well acquainted with these truths. They brought him little joy, however, and perhaps this was the reason his brown eyes gleamed so gloomily as he stood on Platform 9 ¾ beside his parents.   
Tony’s ruffled black hair, worn jeans, and graphic t-shirt presented a startling contrast to the sleek business suit of his neatly-trimmed father, Howard, and the crisply-ironed, forest green sundress of his mother, Maria. Tony shoved his hands nonchalantly into his pockets as his mother embraced him loosely.   
“We’ll miss you, son,” said Maria Stark, her words gentle. She smiled as she pulled away, but Tony couldn’t match her enthusiasm.   
“We need to get going,” Howard interjected before Tony could respond. The older man glanced down at his watch with a frown.   
“Well, don’t let the fact that I’m leaving for a year stop you,” Tony replied dryly. “Those meetings won’t run themselves.” His father gave him a withering glare.   
“These meetings are for your future, Tony,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “One day, you’ll be the head of the greatest wizarding family that’s ever lived, and you’ll understand the sacrifices that I’ve had to make.” Tony openly rolled his eyes, shrugging away his father’s hand.   
“Then get back to your ‘sacrificing’ and let me get to school,” he answered gruffly, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and turning to the nearest train car.   
“We’ll write to you!” his mother called to him.   
“Keep your grades up!” his father added. Tony ignored them both, then hopped up the steps and ducked into the train car. The conductor blew the horn, signaling the train was nearly ready to pull away from the station.   
Tony found an empty compartment near his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, then stashed his backpack in the far corner. He wandered back to the entryway, just in time to see a skinny, blonde boy rush onto the car with a flustered expression etched across his thin face. Tony smirked.   
“Late already, Rogers?” he asked. The boy, despite his puny physique, offered Tony a surprisingly annoyed look.   
“A pleasure as always, Stark,” he responded tightly, then continued past Tony.   
Irritated, but not entirely perturbed, Tony pivoted around and plopped down on the left-side bench of his bare cabin. He reached for his backpack, his hands darting inside to find his worn, leather notebook. His secret box of muggle pens (he had always preferred them to quill pens, although he made this known only to a few) was the next item to emerge. Tony propped the backpack behind his back for some added comfort as he cracked open the notebook. Scribbles, sketches, and painstakingly written notes filled the pages. Tony flipped through them until he found an empty sheet.  
As soon as the inky tip of his pen touched the parchment, a familiar voice interrupted.   
“You can’t even wait until we leave the station to start writing in that thing, can you?” Tony sighed, raising his brown-eyed gaze to meet that of a fourth-year hufflepuff, James Rhodes.   
“Rhodey, this is the fun car,” Tony replied tartly. “The hum-drum car is back there.”   
“When have you ever been fun?” Rhodey retorted, taking a seat across from him. He crossed his dark-skinned arms over his chest.   
“If you ever came to the Slytherin Common Room after a Quidditch game, I’d show you,” said Tony, waving his hand dismissively as he pretended to bury his attention in his notebook. Rhodey snorted.  
“If I truly wanted to see you downing copious amounts of firewhiskey with four girls on each arm, I’d be there, believe me.” Tony shot his friend a glare.   
“Why did I invite you in here?” he asked. “Oh wait… I didn’t.” Rhodey smirked.   
“It’s good to see you too, mate,” he murmured. Tony merely harrumphed, then feigned a look of indifference as he grabbed his pen once more. “What are you working on now?”   
“Stuff,” Tony answered roughly.   
“Gee, how specific,” said Rhodey.   
“That’s code for ‘none of your business’, by the way,” Tony added. Rhodey rolled his eyes.   
“Whatever it is,” he replied. “It must be more important than a civilized conversation with the closest thing you have to a friend.”   
“Jarvis is my friend.”   
“And owl isn’t a friend.” Tony clenched his jaw.   
“Pepper’s my friend, then,” he responded lightly. Rhodey gave him a humorless laugh in return.   
“You pay Pepper to do half your homework for you,” said the Hufflepuff. “I hardly think that qualifies as a friend.”   
“I only make her do the boring, easy subjects,” Tony grumbled.   
“Well, I’m sorry not everyone’s a genius like you,” Rhodey said with a slight huff in his voice. Tony sighed deeply as he longingly eyed the complex sketches and instructions littering the pages of his beloved notebook.  
“You and me both.” 

As soon as the Hogwarts Express screeched to a halt and opened its doors, students piled out of the train and onto the brick platform below. Natasha Romanoff, however, was resigned to stay on board. Her duties as a new prefect prohibited her from silently slipping off the train and losing herself in the crowd, as she had done in years past.   
When her assigned cars were empty at last, the redhead pulled on her Slytherin robes and hopped off the train. She trailed behind the last few stragglers, making her way to the prefect carriage. Her footsteps were quiet, nearly undetectable across the brick as her shoulder-length hair swished behind her.   
“Where are you off to, Romanoff?” Natasha held back a sigh as Bucky Barnes hopped off the nearest car and began striding alongside her.   
“The prefect carriage, if you’re so intent on knowing,” she answered matter-of-factly. Bucky’s bright blue eyes widened.   
“They made you a prefect too?” he said, the disbelief practically dripping from his voice.   
“Why yes, James,” she replied wryly. “And believe me, I’m just as chagrined as you are.”  
“You’re a prefect,” Bucky repeated in a scoffing tone. “I’ll mark that down as the dumbest decision of the century.”   
“If you’re going to bring up my family history, I would strongly advise against it,” Natasha warned.   
“And why is that?” Bucky queried, turning around to walk backwards as he awaited her response. Natasha flashed him a sweet smile.   
“Because I picked up a few things from my parents, and always carry a hunting knife.” Bucky’s face paled and he halted. Natasha strode past him, approaching the prefect carriage with a smirk.   
The carriage was already inhabited by a few older prefects, but Natasha was the first of the fifth years. She caught the wary glances from her fellow students, and quietly took a seat at the end of the bench that wrapped around the inside of the carriage cabin. Natasha folded her hands neatly in her lap, waiting impatiently. Bucky climbed aboard moments later, throwing a pointed glare in her direction as he sat down across the cabin from her.   
The next fifth year to emerge was a short, thin boy with a brown crew-crut. The boy, Clint Barton of Hufflepuff, smiled kindly at each prefect before seating himself a few feet down from Natasha. His Hufflepuff counterpart, a bright-haired ginger by the name of Pepper Potts, scurried on board after him. Natasha tapped her foot anxiously.  
At last, her fellow Slytherin fifth-year appeared; none other than Tony Stark. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Tony had been appointed a prefect. Although his loose morals and fondness for firewhiskey were notorious, his family name had practically guaranteed him the position.   
“Stark,” Natasha murmured as the black-haired boy took a seat next to her.   
“Romanoff,” Tony replied, dipping his head discreetly. Neither of them bothered to continue any attempts at a conversation. Although they were both Slytherin, their backgrounds were about as similar as a Hippogriff and a Blast-Ended Skrewt.   
When all of the prefects had boarded, the carriage began its journey to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Head Boy and Girl were perched in the center of the cabin, and they rambled on and on, explaining the duties and roles of a prefect. Natasha was only half paying attention, and by the time they had arrived, she was certain she wouldn’t remember a single thing.   
Being that she was the closest to the door, Natasha was the first to exit. She paused by the Thestrals to give them each a grateful pat on the rump, then hoisted her pack over her shoulder. She bounded up the front stairway two steps at a time, walking through the wide doorway with ease.   
The Entrance Hall was packed with a chattering mass students, all making their way into the Great Hall for the welcome feast.   
Natasha snuck into the Great Hall, then stole a seat at the very end of the Slytherin table, where no one would bother her. She eyed the shortest table at the far end of the Hall, where the Professors were seated. The middle chair was occupied by a tall, lumbering man with a flowing mane of graying blonde hair and magnificent robes of red and gold. One eye was covered by a patch of gold, but it did nothing to lessen the intensity of his stare. The man was, of course, Headmaster Odin.   
To his left, sat the Professor of Transfiguration, Thor. The younger man had luxurious blonde hair, a stout, well-built figure, and a wide grin as he cajoled with the man to his right. Natasha felt her eyes narrowing. This man, thin with coal-black hair, was unfamiliar to her.   
Before she could question the matter any further, the Headmaster stood to his feet and gestured for silence with a wave of his hand. The Hall fell quiet as students scrambled to their seats. Odin began his annual welcome speech, which Natasha could nearly quote from memory. Then, the first years paraded into the Hall, their small faces alight with a mixture of joy, excitement, and terror. One by one, they were called to the small stool in front of the Professor’s table. The Sorting Hat was placed upon by their little heads by Thor, and the children were divided into their different Houses. When this task was completed, Odin stood once more.   
“Before we begin our feast, dear students,” said the man, his booming voice commanding every ounce of attention. “There is another new face I must introduce to you all.” Odin beckoned to the thin, black-haired man, who stood. Natasha, her curiosity taking the best of her, studied the mysterious man; he had a dark, piercing gaze, and wore robes of green and black. His demeanor seemed calm and quiet, but even from a distance, Natasha could see a vast intellect brimming inside of his eyes. “Undoubtedly,” Odin continued, stealing her attention once more. “Many of you have been wondering who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be. I assure you, I have searched far and wide for the best possible replacement, and I believe that the man standing before you is just that. Without further ado, I present to you all, my younger son; Loki.”   
Murmurs and whispers erupted all around the Great Hall. Natasha listened raptly.   
“Loki?” said a nearby sixth year. “Boy, we’re in luck.”  
“I hear he’s a Metamorphmagus,” another student agreed eagerly.   
“I heard he’s not actually the Headmaster’s son,” a third voice chimed in.   
“Either way,” the sixth year argued. “He’ll make a fantastic Professor.”   
“It is my hope,” said Odin, and the Hall was silenced once more. “That you will all give him a warm welcome to Hogwarts. Now, I shan’t keep you from your feast any longer.”   
As mounds of delicious food appeared on the tables, Natasha snuck one last look at this ‘Loki’. The man had returned to his seat, and was glancing around the Hall with an odd, inexplicable expression painted across his thin face. Natasha wasn’t certain, but she thought for a moment that she caught his gaze. She couldn’t ascertain why, but a chill ran down her spine. Her senses tingled.   
Natasha quickly looked away for a moment, biting her lip nervously. After a few seconds, she cautiously swiveled her gaze back to Loki. The bizarre expression had disappeared, replaced with a wide grin as he spoke with his brother, Thor. Natasha relaxed, and thought that perhaps she had only imagined it.   
But deep inside, her instincts were telling her not to trust this man.


	2. Chapter Two

James Buchanan Barnes was the first student to file into Classroom 3C the next morning. With his head held high and his stomach fluttering eagerly, he strode to his usual desk in the front left corner and plopped down. He dropped his pack of textbooks on the floor carelessly, while Steve took the desk next to him and neatly deposited his underneath his seat. Bucky stretched back in his creaking chair, watching as the rest of the class found their seats. The endless whispers seemed to bounce off the walls.   
This was easily the most anticipated class of the morning, as everyone was anxious to see the newest professor at work. Bucky, in particular, was quite ecstatic. Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been a favorite of his, and one of his best subjects.   
Once everyone had been seated, the whispers grew to murmurs. Where was Professor Loki? Bucky exchanged a curious look with Steve, who merely shrugged his thin shoulders.   
A side door suddenly flew open with a bang!, and the classroom fell silent. Bucky held his breath as Professor Loki glided into the room. The man’s footsteps were smooth and effortless, and a coal-black cloak flowed elegantly behind him. His cool, clear blue eyes commanded every ounce of attention as they swiveled around the room with ease. The tall, lithe man strode in front of the desk, then paused and turned to face the group of bewildered students.   
There was a stretch of silence as Loki surveyed the room, his eyes resting for a brief moment on every person. The instant Bucky’s gaze met that of the Professor’s, he felt a rush of adrenaline. He stared into pools of cerulean; icy, deep, and mysterious. Bucky felt an inexplicable prick of curiosity.   
So enamored was he, that the moment Loki spoke, he jumped slightly in his seat.   
“Welcome, students,” he said. His voice was calm and smooth, neither high nor low. “It is an honor, truly, to be granted such a prestigious role in Wizard Academia. I endeavor to approach this task with all of the dignity that becomes it.” A wave of awe crashed over Bucky at the aura of sheer, graceful simplicity this man seemed to present within a few scarce words. “Now,” Loki continued, his sharp demeanor relaxing slightly as he began to pace in front of his desk with short, controlled footsteps. “I have not been blind to the flurry of inquiries that have been abounding since my arrival. I’m flattered at such curiosity, and will open the first segment of this class for some questions.” The Professor surveyed the class expectantly, and there was a brief pause before a boy near the middle of the room timidly raised a hand. Loki nodded, granting him permission to speak.   
“What… what’s it like to be the brother of Thor?” the boy asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Everyone says he’ll be the next Headmaster, after all.” The thin-lipped smile that crossed Loki’s face seemed tight, but his tone showed no sign of irritation.   
“It’s been… difficult, at times,” said the Professor candidly. “Nevertheless, my brother is a great wizard. But then again, so am I.” He uttered the last few words with a cajoling voice, and the classroom erupted into light laughter. “Next?” said Loki, and a girl in the front row spoke up.   
“Can you tell us any embarrassing stories about him?” she queried hopefully. At this, the Professor chuckled.   
“I could tell you many,” Loki answered. “But I’m afraid we’d be here all day.” The students joined in his laughter again. “Perhaps another time,” Loki assured her, and a few hearty cheers followed. “Anyone else?” Loki inquired. Bucky glanced around the room, and watched as Tony Stark raised his hand from the back row. “Ah, yes Mr. Stark?”   
“Is it true that you’re a Metamorphmagus?” Tony asked, his brown eyes glowing curiously.   
The room went silent. Bucky felt a prick of surprise at such a blatant query; he had heard some scarce rumors here and there that the younger son of Headmaster Odin was a Metamorphmagus, but as far as he knew, it had never been confirmed. Nevertheless, every eye was on the Professor as the silence stretched on. His expression was indiscernible.   
“Well, what would be the fun in ruining the rumors?” he said at last, grinning mysteriously. Bucky smirked at the look of annoyance etched across Tony’s face. “But alas” Loki continued, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “I may accept some more questions at the end,” There was a wave of groans and protests that swept over the room, but they were silenced by a stern look from the young Professor. “Please open your books to page five,” said Loki, a strange glint inside of his sharp eyes. “Now, let us begin.” 

******

Tony chewed thoughtfully on the end of his mechanical pencil, staring blankly at the sheet of hastily-written scribbles on the table below him. All around, the mindless hustle and bustle of the Great Hall was abounding, but Tony had grown used to blocking the noises out. A group of the most popular Slytherin girls were surrounding him at the table, but Tony was hardly paying attention, mumbling half-hearted answers as he penned his latest thoughts into his worn notebook. When the girls finally gave up and moved down the table towards more interesting prey, Tony sighed out in relief. He only had so much patience for them.   
A soft warble came from beside him, and Tony glanced up to see a pale, gray owl perched on the table. A letter was caught inside his beak, and Tony removed it delicately. He dug inside his pockets for a treat, then offered it to the owl, who took it with a gratefully hoot.   
“Thanks Jarvis,” he murmured, patting the owl on his feathery head before the bird launched himself into the air and took off back to the owlery. Tony absent-mindedly picked a blueberry from a bowl of fruit in front of him, and munched on the fruit as he turned back to his notebook.   
“Nice to see some things haven’t changed,” a bright, familiar voice said. Tony’s gaze shot up to see a tall girl taking the seat across from him. She had long, ginger hair, an overabundance of freckles, and soft blue eyes. Her crisply-ironed uniform bore the crest of Hufflepuff.   
“Ah, Miss Potts,” Tony greeted her, pushing his notebook aside temporarily as he grabbed his book-bag and pulled out a simple sheet of parchment. “Here’s this week’s assignments,” he said, handing her the list. The girl, none other than Pepper Potts, took the list and eyed it dubiously.   
“This is a lot to do,” she remarked. Tony sighed, then placed a heavy pouch of coins onto the table and slid it over to her side.   
“You’ll get a raise, then,” he said pleadingly. Pepper sighed, running a hand through her neatly-brushed hair.   
“Alright,” she finally consented, sliding the pouch and the list into her own bag. Before rising from the table, however, she gave a wayward glance at his opened notebook. “What are you working on now?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.   
“A super-strength potion,” Tony answered hesitantly, hastily closing his notebook with a soft snap. Pepper’s expression was growing increasingly perplexed with every second.   
“We’re wizards,” she reminded him. “Why do we need super strength?” Tony shrugged.   
“It’s something my father tried in his younger days,” he explained. “But he could never get it to work. Seemed like a nice challenge.” Understanding suddenly dawned on Pepper’s face.   
“You’re trying to prove yourself to him,” she stated simply. Tony frowned deeply, and stared at her for a moment.   
“Last time I checked,” he riposted dryly. “I pay you to do my homework, not to give psychological evaluations.”   
Pepper’s blue eyes widened, her freckled cheeks turning bright crimson.   
“O-of course,” she mumbled, snatching her bookbag and rising from her seat. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.” Before Tony could respond, she had fled from the table, rushing back to her fellows Hufflepuffs. Yet another sigh escaped Tony’s lips.   
The Great Hall was slowly emptying, as students finished their dinner and made their way back to their dorms. Tony decided to join the steady flow of exiting students and head down to the Slytherin quarters. With some luck, he could he get in some more work before his prefect patrol tonight.   
After all, this potion wasn’t going to invent itself. 

******

One Week Later…  
“Don’t do it, mate.”   
Steve’s brow crinkled in deep concentration.   
“Take him out, Steve,” Bucky was saying from beside him.   
“Don’t do this to me, Rogers,” Sam pleaded from across the table. Steve bit his lip ponderously. Finally, with a heavy heart, he made his move.   
“Checkmate,” he said, triumphantly leaning back in his chair as his pearly-white rook cantered across the chessboard and knocked over Sam’s king. Sam fumed, his dark eyes narrowing.   
“You’re too good at this game,” he muttered.   
“Practicing usually does help,” Steve replied with a smirk. Sam scowled.   
“Evening, boys,” a pleasant, but strong voice said, and Steve’s heart immediately leaped. A girl slid into the seat beside of Sam. Dark, curly hair framed her porcelain-skinned face, and deep, brown eyes moved deliberately over each face as the girl greeted them with a kind glance.   
“Hi Peggy,” Bucky said with a smile, elbowing Steve sharply underneath the table. Steve struggled not to cough, and offered Peggy Carter a shy nod.   
“Hey,” he mumbled.   
“What mischief are you lot getting into?” Peggy asked, glancing at the chessboard curiously.   
“Oh, Steve was just giving Sammy a thorough whacking in chess,” Bucky explained, giving Steve a hearty slap on the shoulder, causing Steve to flinch and Sam to glare harshly in Bucky’s direction.  
“You play chess?” Peggy said, her eyes piercing into Steve’s. His stomach did a somersault.   
“A little,” he said modestly. She smiled brightly.   
“We should have a go sometime,” she responded. “I love a good match of chess.”   
“Y-yeah, that’d be great,” Steve stuttered, an unexpected sense of elation bursting through him.   
An awkward pause followed, and Steve drummed his fingers lightly atop the table.   
“Well, what do you all think of Professor Loki?” Bucky asked after several moments of stilted silence.   
“I think he’s great!” Sam exclaimed, his face lighting up. “He’s so… so suave, and elegant. And he really does know what he’s talking about.   
“He’s very knowledgeable,” Peggy agreed.   
“He’s also very mysterious,” Steve pointed out.   
“That’s what makes him so interesting, you git,” Bucky said defensively. “I think he’s bloody fantastic.”   
“You saw how he dodged that question about being a Metamorphmagus on the first day,” Steve reminded them.   
“Why does it matter if he’s a Metamorphmagus or not?” Peggy asked, cocking her head to the side. “It doesn’t affect his teaching.”   
“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “It just seemed a little bizarre, that’s all. He looked quite perturbed at the question.”   
“I think Stark was more perturbed than anyone,” Sam said, throwing a dirty glance to the boy himself, who sat on the other side of the library’s studying area; his head was buried deep inside of a worn notebook. “Merlin knows why he was so curious about it.”   
“He likes to cause trouble, that’s why,” Steve answered promptly. No one had a response to that.   
“Well,” Peggy finally said with a soft sigh as she stood to her feet. “I should be off; I have patrol duty tonight.”   
“Oh good,” Bucky said excitedly. “That means we can sneak out and cause loads of trouble.”   
“Bucky Barnes,” Peggy exclaimed indignantly, planting her hands on her hips. “I expect a better attitude from a fellow prefect! And if you think for one moment I won’t turn you over to the Caretaker if I catch you sneaking about, then you best think again!” Bucky gaped at her in horror.   
“You wouldn’t,” he murmured. “You know what they say about that old crazy man.” Peggy rolled her eyes.   
“Matt Murdock is a perfectly adequate Caretaker,” she replied in an exasperated tone.   
“They say if he catches you out, he’ll make you clean the entire kitchen,” Sam said quietly, shuddering visibly.   
“They don’t call it Hell’s Kitchen for nothing,” Bucky added.   
“You two are ridiculous,” Peggy muttered, shaking her head. “Good luck getting them into a mental asylum, Steve.”   
“See ya, Peggy!” Steve called after her as she strode off towards the library exit.   
“For Merlin’s sake, just ask the girl out already,” Bucky said once she was out of earshot.   
“I don’t think I’m ready, Buck,” Steve muttered bashfully, looking away.   
“At the rate you’re going, you just might be ready by the time I have grandkids,” Bucky retorted.   
“Come on, Steve,” Sam urged. “What’s the worse that could happen? Besides complete and utter rejection, of course.” Steve sighed.   
“You really aren’t helping me,” he muttered.   
“I don’t think anyone can help you, Rogers,” a smooth, lofty voice said. Steve gritted his teeth together, glancing sideways to see Tony Stark sauntering by their table. He leaped to his feet, and frowned up at the black-haired boy.   
“Maybe not, but I’d be more than happy to help you to the nearest hospital,” Steve shot back, balling his hands into fists. Tony chuckled, eyeing him up and down.   
“All five-foot-two of you?” he mocked, then pushed past Steve. “Take some advice, Rogers,” he called back over his shoulder. “Don’t pick a fight you can’t win, which in your case, would be all fights.”   
Steve glowered after Tony as he swaggered off. He resisted the urge to rush after the boy and knock him to the ground; or at least try to. Bucky placed a comforting hand on his arm, and Steve reluctantly took his seat again.   
“You good?” Bucky asked, his tone concerned. Steve nodded stiffly.   
“I just know one thing,” he murmured, glaring over his shoulder at the receding back of Tony. “I don’t trust Loki or Stark.”


	3. Chapter Three

A cool, crisp breeze was whistling through the clear air as Natasha strolled through Hogsmeade. Crimson leaves crunched underneath her boots, and her scarlet hair swayed back and forth across her shoulders. She shoved her shivering fingers into the pockets of her leather jacket, ducking her head to avoid the gazes of the passerby.   
Students wandered all about, yet it took hardly any effort to stay clear of them. Natasha kept to the shadows, her narrowed blue eyes darting to and fro. She bit her lip nervously as a group of girls strode by, several of them from Natasha’s year in Slytherin. Not a single one even bade her a greeting. Natasha was, of course, quite used to this. She hadn’t expected anything different. Still, there was an inescapable sinking sensation inside of her stomach as she scurried off the street, and walked swiftly through the swinging doors of the Three Broomsticks.   
The atmosphere inside of the pub was lively, as always. Adults and students alike mingled throughout the spacious dining area. The delicious aromas wafting through the air tickled Natasha’s senses, and she headed for the crowded bar.   
Just as she had anticipated, she spotted a familiar, black-haired figure hunched over a notebook and a foaming mug. With a resigned sigh, Natasha slid onto the stool next to the boy. She glanced down at the parchment, filled with all kinds of scribbles and notes.   
“Stark,” she said, quietly nudging the boy. Tony jumped ever so slightly, clearly oblivious to her presence.   
“Romanoff,” he responded in a clipped tone, closing his notebook with a snap as he glared at her irritably.   
“Any particular reason you didn’t show up for patrol duty last night?” Natasha queried, although she wagered it had something to do with the bags nestled underneath Tony’s bloodshot eyes, and the unmistakable stench of firewhiskey that tainted his breath.   
“Oh, was that last night?” Tony replied, sipping his mug nonchalantly.   
“Yes,” Natasha answered calmly, resting her forearms on the counter. “I’ll let it slide this time, Stark, but you’re lucky the Head Boy and Girl didn’t find out.” Tony’s expression darkened.   
“I’m sorry,” he grumbled. “I must have missed the part where you turned into the model student.” Natasha rolled her eyes.   
“You’re pathetic,” she muttered, then eyed his closed notebook curiously. “And for Merlin’s sake, what madness are you concocting now?”   
“Something that’ll be remembered until the end of time,” Tony said, the triumph returning to his tone. “Don’t suppose you want to volunteer as a test subject, do you?”   
“Not particularly,” Natasha grimaced, hopping off the stool. “But good luck with your recruiting.” Before Tony could spout off a snarky retort, she waltzed away, then bounded back onto the main street.   
The afternoon was quickly starting to fade into dusk. Natasha felt a pinch of sadness at the thought of returning to the confines of Hogwarts, as well as the inevitable stack of homework that awaited her. A lofty sigh escaped from her lips as she slowly made her way towards the end of the street, where a quiet, reserved meadow lay. She checked her watch, and nodded to herself.   
The meadow seemed empty at first, save for a large boulder in the far left corner. Then, there was a rustle amongst the tall, yellowing grass, and a tall, four-legged creature emerged from behind the rock; a thestral.   
Natasha smiled, and reached into her pocket for the apple she always brought to Hogsmeade. She approached the creature quietly, waiting patiently for it to notice her. Its magnificent head suddenly arched upward, and it pawed the ground noisily. Natasha halted, then carefully held out the apple in the palm of her hand. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the air and delicately stepped forward.   
The creature’s beak-like muzzle nudged the apple curiously, as fangs slid out from its mouth. It suddenly grabbed the apple, chomping down on the fruit with a snap. Natasha reached out, and patted the creature comfortingly. The thestral snorted, rubbing its head against her shoulder.   
“A marvelous creature, wouldn’t you say?”   
Natasha nearly leaped out of her skin in surprise. She whirled around, and the thestral shied away in confusion. Natasha’s mouth opened slightly as she realized who was walking across the meadow.   
“P-Professor Loki?” she stammered, her mouth suddenly going dry. The tall, thin man grinned at her as he approached, stepping elegantly through the grass as his emerald-colored cloak billowed behind him in the breeze.   
“Miss Romanoff,” he said in a kind tone. “My apologies. I didn’t intend to startle you.”   
“It’s alright,” Natasha assured him, although her heart was still slowing its frantic pace. She eyed the man warily, noticing how his clear, cerulean eyes scanned the premises quickly, soaking in every detail. The thestral, seemingly convinced that Natasha was alright, trotted back up to her, nudging her hands for another treat. Natasha rubbed its neck, and glanced at the Professor. “You can see it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.   
“Yes,” Loki answered simply as he reached out to pat the skeletal-looking creature. He didn’t appear inclined to share any more information than that, but Natasha decided to press on nonetheless.   
“So, you’ve... seen death?” she inquired in a quiet voice. There was a pause, and Natasha felt a tingle run down her spine as she met the chilling gaze of Professor Loki.   
“Yes,” he repeated, and for a moment, Natasha thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile cross his face, before it dissipated into a blank expression. Her eyes widened, and she suddenly felt the intense urge to flee. Distrust bubbled inside of her test, much like it had when Loki had first been introduced to the school.   
“I-I should go,” Natasha murmured, giving the thestral one final pat on its rump before turning and making for the street as fast as her feet could carry her.   
“I’ll see you in class, Miss Romanoff,” Loki called after her, his tone almost taunting her. Natasha shuddered, and kept her gaze trained on the dirt road ahead of her.   
She made her escape, and walked speedily down the street, back towards the safety of Hogsmeade. Natasha gritted her teeth together, and forced herself not to break into a run. She was unsure if it was her imagination playing tricks on her or not, but she couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling within her, rattling her to the core.  
The feeling of Loki watching her go.

******

Tony reached for the firewhiskey bottle stashed underneath his table in the library. His shaky fingers gripped the glass neck of the bottle and raised it to his lips, only for him to discover that it was empty. Tony scowled, slamming the bottle down on the table angrily. Technically speaking, firewhiskey was banned on the Hogwarts grounds, but Tony’s last name made certain that no one bothered him about his secret stash.   
Grumbling quietly to himself, Tony turned his attention back to the open notebook in front of him. He frowned as he glanced over the pages and pages of crossed-out notes and diagrams. He drummed his fingers against the wooden surface, racking his brain for anything that could help him in his conundrum.   
In silent frustration, he raised his weary head. His brow furrowed as he noticed a short, curly-haired boy sitting alone at the table diagonal from him. His wrinkled robes were decorated by the crest of Ravenclaw, and Tony was hit by an idea. He hastily gathered his things, then scrambled over to the table.   
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from the boy, who peered up at him curiously from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “It’s… Brad, right?” Tony went on, eyeing the black-haired boy up and down.   
“Uh, i-it’s Bruce,” the boy corrected, his brown eyes wider than saucers. “Bruce Banner.”   
“Ah, right,” Tony murmured, waving his hand dismissively. “I remember you from the prefect carriage.” Bruce nodded, still looking more than a bit perplexed.   
“Anything I can do for you?” the boy asked, leaning his arms on the table.   
“What do you make of this?” Tony queried, opening his notebook to the page with his beloved potion’s formula, and sliding it across the table. Bruce scanned the page, his expression growing more incredulous with each perishing moment.   
“Is this… is this a strength potion?” the boy finally inquired after several seconds had passed. “Wasn’t your father working on something like this?”   
“Yes, and yes,” Tony answered. “I think I’m close, but I need something to stabilize it.”   
“Hmm…” was Bruce’s reply, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, you’re right. Something like this is highly volatile.”   
“Any suggestions?” Tony asked, struggling not to sound too desperate. Bruce pondered the question, running a hand through his curly hair.   
“Starthistle might be a good idea,” he said at last. Tony breathed out heavily.   
“Starthistle…” he said, lightly smacking himself in the forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”   
“Sleep deprivation might be a contributing factor,” Bruce responded, raising an eyebrow at Tony’s haggard appearance. “Judging from the looks of you, I’d say you better get some rest before you do any more work on this… potion project.” Tony snorted.   
“I’m fine,” he replied tartly. “If anyone needs their beauty sleep, it’s you. I hear you’re a hard person to handle when you get angry.” Bruce’s face turned bright red, and his grip tightened on the quill pen in his hand. “Anyway,” Tony continued hurriedly. “Not important. Thanks for the help, Banner.”   
“Where do you plan on getting the ingredients?” Bruce asked, his gaze narrowing slightly as Tony started to rise from the table. Tony smirked.   
“I do believe our Potions Professor has a lovely pantry just brimming with the freshest ingredients,” he answered calmly. “I don’t think he’ll miss a few things here and there.” Bruce’s eyes widened.   
“Do you have… a… you know, test subject?” Tony hesitated.   
“Still working on that bit,” he admitted. “But I’m sure someone will come along. The first step is getting all of the ingredients.”   
“Be careful,” Bruce warned, his expression a mixture of curiosity and fear. Tony’s grin widened.   
“Where’s the fun in that?” 

******

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”   
“I don’t like this anymore than you do, James,” was the annoyed response of Natasha Romanoff, who stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “But Peggy wasn’t feeling well tonight, and she asked me to take her patrol duty for her.”   
“Of all the people I could have been stuck with,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head in disdain. Ignoring Natasha’s indignant stare, he stomped away from the Entrance Hall with a huff. He heard the quiet pitter-patter of her feet as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. After reaching a smaller, quieter corridor, Bucky finally relented and slowed his pace. He clenched his jaw, sneaking a sideways glance at the redhead girl walking calmly alongside of him.   
“I didn’t bring my knife, in case you were worried,” Natasha finally said, breaking the stilted silence with a wry glare in his direction. Bucky stiffened.  
“Knives don’t worry me,” he shot back.   
“They should,” Natasha replied evenly. Bucky snorted.   
“I suppose you would be the one to know,” he murmured. “I’m sure your dad taught you how to use them quite well.” At that, Natasha whirled around to face Bucky, her eyes glowing with a rage Bucky hadn’t known was possible for her. They halted in unison, their gazes meeting each other in a cool reunion.   
“I hated that man,” Natasha spat furiously. “And I think it’s time someone around here finally understood that. I may be the daughter of a Wizard Hunter, but I am not my father.”   
With that, Natasha swirled around and marched on down the hallway. Bucky watched her go, a hint of regret washing over him. He chewed on his lower lip nervously, then reluctantly chased after.   
“Romanoff,” he called, finally catching up to her. “I’m… I’m sorry, that was… that was inappropriate.”   
“Just shut up,” Natasha responded haughtily as they neared the next corner.  
“Look,” Bucky continued. “I’m not -”  
“No, shut up,” Natasha repeated, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking around the corner.  
“What in the -” Natasha cut him off with a sharp elbow to his stomach, and Bucky clamped his mouth shut at last. He glared at her in confusion, then followed the direction of her gaze as she tentatively peered around the corner. He snuck a look over her shoulder, and was greeted by a peculiar sight.   
Around the corner and several yards down the hall, at the entrance to the Potions classroom, stood a dark figure. It was difficult to discern any noticeable features with the lack of light, much to Bucky’s chagrin.   
“Can you tell who it is?” he asked Natasha in a hushed tone.   
“No,” she answered quietly. “I’m going to get closer.”   
Before Bucky could protest, Natasha had slipped across the corridor, and was inching along the stone wall. Meanwhile, Bucky withdrew his wand from the inside of his cloak, and kept a steady eye on the mysterious figure, who disappeared into the Potions classroom.   
“Over here!” Natasha beckoned, and Bucky spotted her opened the door to a small, broom closet opposite the entrance to the classroom. Bucky sighed, then carefully tip-toed across the hallway to the closet.   
He squeezed inside, and Natasha closed the door nearly all the way shut, leaving enough room for just the tiniest sliver of light to peer through. Bucky gazed through the small, grungy window in the door. He frowned as he thought of the mystery person rummaging through Professor Fandral’s things.   
“Did you get a better look at him?” Bucky whispered as he glanced through the window.   
“No,” said Natasha. “But I have a suspicion. Now, let me take a look.”   
Bucky resignedly stepped away from the window, and Natasha took his place. The closet felt increasingly small with every moment that ticked past, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable at the lack of space separating him and Natasha. Luckily, she seemed to have forgotten their squabble from a few minutes earlier.   
“Here he comes!” Natasha suddenly whispered, and Bucky’s attention was dragged back to the present. He quietly nudged her to the side, scrambling for a view out of the window as the shadowed figured emerged from the room.   
They watched as he walked out onto the cobblestone corridor. When a fortunate ray of moonlight broke through a nearby window and illuminated the face of the elusive thief, Bucky was fairly certain his jaw dropped halfway to the floor. He blinked, making sure he was seeing correctly.   
Then, before either he or Natasha could react, the man had ran back down the hallway, and disappeared.   
“Was that…” Bucky began, before his voice trailed off.   
“Tony Stark,” Natasha finished for him.   
“What… in Merlin’s name…” Bucky stammered. “What is he doing in the Potions classroom at this time of night?”   
“Probably stealing some ingredients for his latest project,” Natasha said matter-of-factly.   
“We should go after him!” Bucky exclaimed, pushing open the door open. To his surprise, Natasha grabbed his arm again, stopping him from leaving.   
“No,” she said simply. Bucky gaped at her in shock.   
“Stark’s a bloody prefect!” he hissed. “He can’t just go around stealing things. I don’t care what his last name is.”   
“I agree, but… he’s up to something,” Natasha pointed out. “Something big. If we tell Headmaster Odin now, we’ll never know what it is.” Bucky frowned, glaring down at her.   
“You’re willing to risk the unknown dangers of Stark’s experiments to satisfy your own curiosity?” he replied. Natasha offered him a rare, sly smile in return, her blue eyes glinting mysteriously.   
“Yes,” she answered simply. “There are some strange things going on in this school. And like it or not, I’m making it my business to find out what they are.”


End file.
